Karma
by PhoenixStAr2
Summary: ."It was a brilliant battle, wasn't it, Fred? We were brilliant!" The night after the final battle, Percy Weasley finds George dealing with his twin's death in a most horrifying fashion. It was then that he knew the cold hand of Karma.


**KARMA**

It was done. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding death curse just a mere few hours ago. Percy Weasley had trouble wrapping his mind around that idea as he lay in bed at the Burrow, staring at the ceiling.

The Burrow.

It had been years since he'd been back, and it just felt _odd_ to find his room completely untouched as if he'd never left. And how he wished he'd never.

Unsurprisingly, Percy couldn't escape his thoughts tonight. If only he had realized the errors of his ways earlier, if only he had put his faith in his parents and Dumbledore and Harry – could he have convinced Fudge that Voldemort was back all those years ago? Could he have persuaded the Ministry into doing something earlier, to avoid the scene tonight at Hogwarts? Could he have avoided putting Fred in a situation that he wouldn't come out of alive? Could he have avoided distracting Fred in the middle of imminent danger by making a stupid, bloody joke?

Tears threatened to overtake him and he sat up, shaking his head. What he wouldn't give to have Fred goad him, prod him, slip an Exploding Snap card into his breakfast cereal – then, as if bidden, the twin's hauntingly familiar laugh floated up to him from the loo downstairs.

Percy's heart caught in his throat and for a moment he thought he would faint. No – it was just George.

Just George.

Curious to see what had prodded the leftover twin into laughter when Percy was so sure that he, of all of them, should be the most devastated, he whispered, "Lumos," and slipped out of his room. Following the sound of laughter and chatter, Percy trod softly down the stairs and froze at the landing as he stared into the open door of the loo.

Voldemort himself had not been as frightening as the sight that greeted Percy.

The darkness of the small bathroom was permeated only by Percy's wand and a small flickering candle. George stood inside, gripping at the sides of the sink and staring at himself in the mirror. The inconsistent light of the candle haunted his visage and gave him an eerie, hollow look, but he was smiling. "Old Moldy Voldy certainly had it coming to him. It was a brilliant battle, wasn't it, Fred? We were brilliant!" He let out an unnatural laugh and covered the hole where his left ear should have been with a hand.

Percy watched in horror as George responded to his own question. "Indeed we were, George. The birds will never be able to resist our handsome battle scars."

George dropped his hand and grinned widely at himself. "You lucky git, got to come out of the battle whole and unscathed, didn't you? Pity that. I ought to nick your ear off myself and we'll be identical again. For once, you'll get to be the better-looking –"

He raised his hand to cover his ear again, "—and smarter –", then winked at himself in the mirror.

Hand down. "—though not nearly as charming –"

Hand up. "—but braver –"

Down. "—certainly not wittier –"

Up. "—DEFINITELY wittier!"

Sheer terror struck Percy. "George?" He whispered, desperately hoping this was a prank.

His brother didn't hear him. George removed his hand from his ear again. "I don't think so, mate, I've always been the brains behind the operat—"

"STOP!" Percy knew his voice was unnaturally high and shaking, but he didn't care. "Merlin, George, what are you doing?" He grabbed his younger brother by the shoulders and shook him.

"George?" George sounded slightly fanatical. "I'm not George, Perce. That's George. I'm Fred." He jerked his head at the mirror and turned to face it, shaking his head in a dramatically sad fashion. "Can't even tell his own brothers apart. Bloody Ministry brainwashing must've dulled up his old Big Head noggin." He struggled out of Percy's grip so that he could snap his hand back over the hole in his head. "Honestly, Perce. Abandoning your family for three years is no excuse for not recognizing your brother. Your own flesh and blood, you ponce!"

Percy couldn't breathe. Something in George clearly must have snapped, something likely irreparable... "No, no, no," he whispered. Even as he shook George so hard that they both sank down to the ground, Percy had a flash of a memory:

_Pudgy little two-year-old Percy scrunched up his nose and poked at the two little bundles of fluffy, red-headed baby things in his mum's arms. Mum smiled down at the three of them, tiredly, and introduced him to his new brothers, "Fred and George."_

_"I don't like them," he declared immediately, crawling into his nearby dad's arms. "They look like trouble-makers." They didn't, really, but Percy didn't like the idea of having his position as the youngest usurped by not one, but _

two_ new babies. "But don't worry about them; _I'll_ keep them out of trouble. I promise."_

He had promised. It wasn't too late to fix it. He would fix it. A Weasley's word was always worth something. Even his. He was the smart one, the brains in the family – he could fix it. The family didn't need to know; Mum didn't need the shock; they didn't need to be burdened; poor George didn't need to be embarrassed once they cleaned this little mental mess up. "George," his voice cracked and he stumbled to drag them both into the small loo so that he could close the door. He didn't want to wake anyone up. They didn't need to see this. "George."

George had become oblivious to Percy. Instead, he was reminiscing with Fred, laughing so hard that tears rolled down his face. "And remember, '_Weatherby_'? Bloody effing Crouch couldn't even bother to remember his name, Fred, remember that? Of course, George, naturally good ol' Perce had too much decorum to bother correcting the poor man. It's no wonder he can't admit that he got his own brothers mixed up, Fred! It's a sad sight, George. Sad sight, indeed!"

Percy tried splashing water in his brother's face, tried slapping him (and got slapped back twice, once by Fred and once by George), tried Ennervating him, and even considered Polyjuicing himself into Fred to shock George out of it. Nothing was working and Percy was starting to hyperventilate – not that he hadn't been already. "George, please!" he managed to wrench out as he gasped for air. "WAKE UP!"

"—right old Minister of Magic he would make if he can't even tell his brothers apart, George –"

"GEORGE! You're George. You're NOT Fred, Fred is DEAD!" Percy was screaming now, sobbing as the dam broke, tears blurring his glasses. He grabbed his brother again – this time, in a tight, vice-like hug. Merlin, what had Fred's death done to him? "No, no, no, please… let me fix it. Let me make it right! GEORGE!"

His heaving sobs had finally quieted George. Percy was crying openly into his brother's hair now, bawling uncontrollable wheezes and chokes. His hands grasped at George's shirt as though what was left of his brother would slip away if he let go.

"Goodness, Perce," George's voice broke through Percy's tears. "We were only kidding. You got it right, I'm George. Fred's over there. No need to snivel about it," he joked. Over his own heart-broken sobs and undignified sniffling, Percy could hear George whisper to himself, "Maybe you should go get Mum, Fred, I think something's wrong with Perce – more than usual."

As George continued joking with him, tried to get him to tell him what was wrong, Percy grieved for his brothers and his family. And despite the tiny part of him that remained logical, Percy couldn't stop the bubble of hatred for himself that swelled up. He had been so bloody stupid three years ago. If only he had seen sense! If only he hadn't been so bloody ambitious and selfish and arrogant! Things could have been different. He would have never put Fred into danger tonight. He wouldn't have killed Fred.

Percy had thought he'd been so fortunate when his family welcomed him back with open arms, with no reproach for his turncoat behaviour, no disdain. But even though his family had forgiven him, Karma hadn't. His family overlooked his treachery, but Karma knew, and Karma saw fit to punish him appropriately. He had put his family through three years of suffering, forcing them to mourn the loss of a son and a brother that he could have prevented if he had not been so self-centered. And now, it was his turn to lose a brother – no, two brothers – one dead, the other broken.

He could almost appreciate the bitter irony of it all, the appropriateness of the punishment, but he grieved for his family, who had to suffer along with him, who didn't deserve it like he did – all because he had been an ambitious, self-important bastard. Percy couldn't suppress the bitter laugh that broke out of him as he continued to sob brokenly into an increasingly baffled George's arms.

Karma was a funny thing, indeed.


End file.
